


Menace

by potentiality_26



Series: Hotel Beds [2]
Category: Callan (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-08 17:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20838953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiality_26/pseuds/potentiality_26
Summary: Callan stopped for a second too long in the doorway.  Meres, having picked up their bags with exaggerated deference to Callan’s age and experience, nearly collided with his back.  Evidently the section had elected not to spring for a double room on this occasion.Sometimes there's only one bed.  This is one of those times.





	Menace

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this must come before [Playing with Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610528) chronologically, but I've made it a series while I figure it out. I have ideas for more in this 'verse.
> 
> Not Brit-picked.

Callan stopped for a second too long in the doorway. Meres, having picked up their bags with exaggerated deference to Callan’s age and experience, nearly collided with his back. Evidently the section had elected not to spring for a double room on this occasion. 

It was a problem, not so much because there was only one bed as because Callan had reacted- briefly but definitely _reacted_\- to there being only one bed. 

“Well, isn’t this cozy,” Meres said, smirking as he brushed past Callan and into the hotel room. “Better settle in, old son. We’re here for three days.”

Those three days suddenly stretched out a lot longer in Callan's mind than they had when Hunter first handed out the files for this job. And that too was not so much because there was only one bed as because Meres was looking so distinctly like a cat in the company of a now-empty birdcage. And Callan couldn't really blame him for it either; Callan felt rather keenly that in his second of stillness he had admitted to something without ever saying a word, and- in doing so- had also lost a game he didn't realize they were playing until tonight. “Right,” Callan said, rallying, as Meres dumped both bags at the foot of the bed. 

Callan busied himself checking for bugs. The room was small and utilitarian, so there wasn't much to check, but Callan took his time about it- something he began to regret when Meres finished unpacking some of his things and started watching Callan instead. 

Callan didn't turn around. He didn't even look up from where he was bent over a rickety lamp, checking its internal workings for anything odd- but he could feel Meres' eyes on him, heavy and distinct. "Why don't you wash up first?" Callan said, going for magnanimous and likely missing it by a mile. He figured that was better than sounding too bothered, though. Sounding too bothered would be like stopping in the doorway when he saw there was only one bed had been, like skirting the bed as if someone had doused it in a toxic substance was now. It would be like suggesting that there was something to be bothered about.

And there _was_\- but Callan was damned if he'd be the first to admit it. 

Meres did as he said gamely enough. Callan wasn't altogether sure if that boded well for the next few days or not. 

They were watching a man who might or might not have state secrets to sell and potential buyers on the line. They had been at it until they were relieved at dusk. It was late now, and there was an early morning ahead for both of them. Once Meres shut the bathroom door behind him, Callan checked the room again, more thoroughly this time. It was better than just sitting there, and listening to the water run, and _thinking_. When Meres came back, all cleaned up and changed for the night, he jerked his chin toward the bathroom without a word, indicating that Callan take his turn. He did. It smelled like Meres in there, which Callan did his best to ignore. He had three days to get good at that. 

By the time Callan came out it was quite late and Meres was already curled up and looking... just unbearably snug. Callan thought about trying to sleep over the covers- to put something, however thin, in between them- but it was rather a cold night, and Callan was fairly sure that, like stopping in the doorway, like too many things he had already done that night and might still do before morning, it would be an admission of something... dangerous. 

He climbed into the bed. 

Later- Callan would guess it had been about two hours, and he usually had a pretty good sense for such things, so he didn't bother fumbling for the clock- he came to the conclusion that he might as well have slept over the covers for all the good he was getting out of them. Meres had turned out to be a terrible blanket thief, and a fussy sleeper besides. Callan, simultaneously groggy and more awake than he had ever felt in his life, grabbed handfuls of the duvet and pulled. 

Meres roused a little, nearly smacking him in the face.

“You’re a menace,” Callan said, too off-balance to really calibrate his tone, so he did sound bothered now- annoyed and, worse still, very slightly fond. 

Meres woke up a little bit more, enough to shoot Callan an aggrieved look through heavy-lidded eyes. “You snore.”

"You can't possibly know that," Callan replied. He had bad dreams. It seemed to him that he would never need to worry about those with Meres in bed with him- because he’d never get to sleep for that long.

Sure enough, Meres tolerated Callan's more equal distribution of blankets but quickly began to make a nuisance of himself in other ways. He started out on his side, rolled over onto his stomach, and then back onto his side again, all in the space of ten minutes. 

Callan slid forward, pushing Meres onto his back and then wrapping an arm tightly around his middle. “Stop,” he said firmly. Then, "Please."

Meres did. That was a score for Callan’s side, he supposed, but not much of one. How immediately, how eagerly Meres stilled when asked left Callan feeling more off-balance than ever. Meres could be subtle; he could also be the opposite of subtle. It was always difficult to be absolutely sure whether he was playing, baiting Callan on purpose, or in fact just being himself. Callan was strangely tempted to assume the latter in this case. He and Meres had a way slotting into each other when they allowed it, when Callan allowed it, that was becoming more and more difficult to ignore. He found his nose coming to rest in the crook of Meres' neck, found himself strangely unwilling to draw back again. Meres did smell good. And then there was the way he settled, when he settled, that made it feel as though this was something he had thought about. Something he might _like_. Callan always thought he might- always thought about it and then made himself stop thinking about it. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself anymore, which was exactly what he'd been afraid of when they walked into this room. 

Under the covers and this close to Meres it was warm. It was almost too warm- almost, but not quite. And even if it _had_ been too warm Callan didn't think it would be enough to make him him roll off of Meres now.

He would probably regret that stubborn streak of his in the morning. Being this close to Meres was never a smart idea- but who said that Callan's ideas were always smart? He pressed a little tighter against Meres and felt him- unmistakably- pressing back. 

Oh, he would regret this in the morning all right. But Meres relaxed further under his arm, almost soft, and it was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Come see me on [dreamwidth](https://potentiality-26.dreamwidth.org).


End file.
